Through sweat, determination, and by what her grandmother called “just plain cussedness,” Yardley had made Harmonie Kennels one of the top breeding farms for K-9 service dogs on the East Coast. Teams were sent here for her rigorous training programs. Using her sterling reputation in the business, she insisted on having the final say-so in the pairing of her animals with their human partners.
She had put this team together because they shared similar natures. James had the same energetic yet tenacious quality as Bogart, and good instincts. Good instincts couldn’t be discounted. Partners who trusted their instincts often solved cases using details that by-the-book partners missed. She was certain James and Bogart could become one of the finest K-9 teams she’d ever produced, but only if they learned to trust each other completely. Just now, they were acting like a couple who’d had the Big Fight. The bond between them had been disturbed and they were both the worse for it. That made her furious.
James and Bogart came back from their trial at a trot. The sight of the pair of healthy male specimens drew a half-smile of begrudging admiration from their coach. She pinched if off immediately and placed a fist on each hip. It was time to chew their asses.
James stopped before her, not at all winded. “Sorry. We’re a little rusty.”
Yardley ignored the gorgeous smile he slanted her way. “Rusty can let a suspect escape. Or get you killed.”
He sobered instantly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“How long have you and Bogart been off required training?”
“Four weeks, ma’am.”
“Eight hours a week minimum, times four weeks. Well, hell. You’ve missed thirty-two hours of training. That’s enough to ruin you as a team.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s why I came out here first thing. To be assessed.”
Yardley walked slowly around the pair, assessing the tension running through the young officer’s body and the concern expressed by the way his canine companion was watching his partner’s every twitch.
“You youngsters get a few takedowns under your belts and think you don’t need to learn anything else. But without constant discipline and training, you’re not K-9 officers. You’re just a boy and his dog.”
“We’ll do better tomorrow, ma’am. I’ll work him day and night between shifts.”
“Did you not hear me? You’re not fit for street duty.”
Stung by her assessment, James had to bite back the comment that came to mind. It wasn’t Bogart’s fault he was rusty. It wasn’t his … Hell. Maybe it was.
“Come with me.”
They were both silent as they walked back to the main office. Hard as she could be, James was grateful for Yardley’s close connection to the partners she paired up. Without it, Bogart might not have been found.
Aware that Bogart was missing, Yardley had paid special attention when she received a call from a young woman who said she had recently adopted a Belgian Malinois from a shelter. The caller said the dog was so well trained she thought he might have professional abilities. Yet when Yardley asked her to describe the dog, the young woman hesitated. That hesitation was enough to prick Yardley’s curiosity. When pressed for details, for instance where exactly she had adopted the dog, she’d only say it was near Lake Gaston. When asked if the dog was tattooed or tagged, the caller had hung up. Even more suspicious. Following a hunch, she had called James.
They agreed. Why would the caller contact Harmonie Kennels unless she was aware of some connection to the dog in question? It could be a setup. Someone who’d steal a police dog might have a vendetta against the owner or the department. Worst-case scenario was the go-to mode of operation. The benefit of the doubt could get a law enforcement officer killed.
James and his sergeant had come up with a plan. On his own time, James would do some investigation in the general area of Lake Gaston, by pretending he was a civilian with a missing pet.
It was amazing what a local gas station or café owner knew or observed about her or his customers. One glance at the photo James carried of Bogart, and the owner of a café located on a farm road off Interstate 95 just east of Littleton gave him the location of a recent customer with a dog that fit the description. But, he added, she wasn’t a local. Just visiting. Using one of the old 1950s cabins located on a cove on Lake Gaston. Sure enough, that’s where he found Bogart, and Shay Appleton.
James found himself wondering what Shay was doing now.
“That’s your problem right here.”
James paused, looking guiltily at Yardley. “What?”
“Your mind just wandered. That single-minded obsession to do your best, it’s missing today.”
“Yes, ma’am. I was just thinking how lucky we were that Shay was the one to get custody of Bogart.”
Yardley noticed that he called the woman by her first name but let that slide. “Did she know anything about handling a dog with Bogart’s special talents and needs?”
“No, but she has good instincts. They developed a relationship very quickly.” He told her about the incident in the woods the night he’d discovered Bogart was alive and then, the next day, how his partner had alerted him to the man’s return. “Both times Bogart understood without prompting that she was in danger.”